Fallen Angels
by PaintedinAllColors
Summary: What would you do if you could never see the one you loved again? What price would you be willing to pay to be with them?
1. Chapter 1

Me: Yeah, I really should be working on Whispers in the Dark and all my other fics, but I couldn't not post this one! It was just BAM! And I was like "hell yeah this is awesome!" So yeah... Now, for the disclaimer, must I say it? Did Damon go marshmallow and softie cuz he fell in love? Yes. So I don't own. And you should listen to Black Veil Brides song, Fallen Angels...but only if you want to! I was listening to it, and that's how I got the idea, so yeah... Well enjoy~!

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><p>"For your crimes, you are forever banished from the Celestial Court!" the Creator's decisive voice rung out. "Is there anything you would like to say before you are cast down to wander Earth for eternity?"<p>

"No, my Lord," one of the sentenced angels said submissively, bowing.

"No, my Lord," the other echoed his brother reluctantly.

"Very well. From this moment on, you are forever denied entrance to heaven or hell, and you shall be forced to Earth!" the Creator declared. A hole in the clouds beneath their feet opened up, and the two angels fell through the floor of their home, never to return.

As they were forced down to Earth, their beautiful white wings darkened, until they were as black as the night itself. Their eyes, which were previously an icy blue and a deep, piercing green, now turned as black as the darkness they had fought in their previous life.

Stefan landed lightly, and Damon followed, their new wings gleaming in the light of the full moon. Immediately, Stefan looked up for any sign that they might be able to go back to what was once their home.

"This is terrible!" he lamented, burying his face in his hands.

"What are you saying?" his brother questioned. "This is great!"

"Damon, are you out of your mind? We're outcasts, and we are stuck on Earth," Stefan said, not comprehending his brother's joy.

"Well, I was an outcast anyway because of my black hair. But now, we are free. We can go anywhere, do anything, and there is nobody to tell us what to do!" Damon exclaimed, dark eyes alight with joy.

"We need to get back somehow! We need that stability; that order!" Stefan cried, worrying.

"No we don't! Now that we're here, we answer to none. We can fly as much as we want, and as far as we can go. We can do whatever we want; be whoever we want to be! This is a good thing," Damon tried to convince his brother.

"Well, you said it yourself, you were an outcast! You don't care about them, you never did! But I had friends there," Stefan protested.

"Please. Your so called friends didn't give a damn about you, and you know it," Damon rolled his eyes.

"Don't curse!" Stefan reprimanded his brother, reminding him to observe one of the rules set forth to govern the angels. "They'll hear you!"

"But I can. And they won't. Now that I'm gone, I am but a faint memory to those stuck up, pretentious morons in the Court," Damon shrugged.

"But…," Stefan trailed off, realizing Damon was right. They were on their own now; not ruled by anyone. They were free.

!~!~!~!~!~!

"Did I do well, Lord Niklaus?" a demoness purred, prostrating herself before her superior.

"You did very well, Katherine. I'm sure his Majesty will appreciate your work," he walked away, dismissing the demoness Katherine. His stride was purposeful as he strolled through the Demon King's palace, towards his master's throne room.

"I assume if went well," a guttural voice was uttered from the darkness surrounded the throne. Small, crimson fires littered the floor of the throne room, but did nothing to illuminate the shadows of the grand throne. It was made of pure onyx and Stygian iron, and garnets and other precious gems glittered maliciously in the dim firelight.

"It was executed perfectly, your Majesty," he bowed, trying his best not to fall to his feet because of the malevolent aura that always surrounded his master.

"Well done," the voice said, chuckling darkly. "Well done indeed. Soon I will be free, my Prince of Darkness. Soon I will be able to walk among men and angels alike, bringing havoc to the world my dear brother created so meticulously. I will ruin it, and I will ruin him, and he will feel what it is like to be locked away for eons!"


	2. Chapter 2

Me: Another update~! Wow, I love this story~! Haha! Fallen Angel Damon~! Yayzzz~!

Damon: After seeing this, maybe vampires are fallen angels.

Me: Well go call your brother and ask him to ask Klaus.

Damon: No. Painted-chan doesn't own the Vampire Diaries or Christian mythology. 

Me: No need to rub it in. And now for the review replies:

**Broken Cries: Thank you so much! You were the first review, and I am so glad it's an Original idea! One of seven brothers! Lol that was weird...but thanks, and this was a fast update~!**

**neylujulyen: Thanks! Yeah...it was kinda short, but this one is longer~!**

**xyuechihax: You find out what they did in this chapter~! *nods* The Fallen movies? I'll check them out~! And yes..kinda like Kalona, but less...obsessed and psycho and stalker-ish...**

**ShaniceyBee11: Again, thanks~! And the update is here! Very fast, but they will be irregular. Just saying.**

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><p>Damon lounged in the tree, wings drooping tiredly, the perfect picture of aloofness and relaxation. He closed his eyes, and tilted his head up, so that the last rays of the dying sun warmed his cold skin. The fading sunlight danced on his eyelids, radiating heat throughout his body, and soothing tense muscles. The fallen angel sighed in contentment, appreciating the sun.<p>

A loud crash jolted him out of his half asleep state. He opened one of his eyes, only to be greeted by the sight of a battle. Damon smirked; things were just getting better and better. He'd fallen centuries ago, but, unlike his brother, Damon didn't miss the Celestial Court at all. They always had been so uptight, he reflected, watching the events before him with interest.

A female angel was fighting a demon with almost reckless rage. Her features were fine and regal, long, brown hair forming a cloud around her head as she wove in the air, avoiding attacks. She was slim and petite, but he had no doubt that she could pack quite a punch, to use one of the expressions humans had created. Why, he had no idea.

Her wings were pure white, like his had once been, before they had turned as black as the night. Honestly, Damon felt like he was meant to be a Fallen One. He couldn't see why it was intended to be a punishment; he liked living on the Earth much more than he'd liked residing in the Court. No doubt his brother felt differently.

A scream brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked down to see the angel was backed into a corner, and the demon was preparing to kill her. Damon grinned; he was happy to step in. Fighting demons was the only thing he missed about being an angel. But he occasionally encountered a demon, like now. And he'd always enjoyed a good fight, after all.

Damon jumped from the tree, effortlessly landing behind the demon. The angel's eyes widened in, not fear, but interest. How refreshing, Damon thought. An angel who isn't estranging me for being one of the Fallen, but is intrigued by that very fact.

"I believe you are in my territory," he drawled, noting the look of shock on the creature's face.

"And who would you be?" the demon questioned, tilting its horned head to the side.

"Why does it matter? I'm a Fallen One," Damon replied, shrugging. "And I'd suggest you let her go."

"Oh?" the demon replied, its curiosity piqued. "But I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Well then," Damon smiled. "I guess I'll have to use force then." In an instant, he was in between the angel and the demon, amazing them both. He smirked at the demon before kicking it squarely in the chest, causing it to crash into a tree, the same tree he had been resting in previously.

The demon glared at Damon venomously, its crimson eyes blazing with rage and malice. Damon simply smiled, enjoying the look of fear that crept onto its face as it noticed Damon wasn't the slightest bit intimidated. He ambled over to the now cowering demon, and picked up its sword.

"Stygian iron," he said, looking at the blade as it reflected the crimson light of the setting sun. "Very nice." Damon impaled the demon with its own sword, the well practiced attack greatly resembled a cobra striking. He watched the still corpse disintegrate into ashes in the wind, then turned his attention to the beautiful, yet badly wounded angel before him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, sounding concerned, and surprising himself. The only things he cared about was himself and his brother, but this angel had just walked in and he was worried about her? Maybe I'm getting sick, Damon thought, feeling his forehead for any sign of a fever.

"Does it look like I'm okay?" the angel looked at him, blood trailing down the side of her face from a cut above her eyebrow. Damon grinned, she was feisty. Yet another surprise from her. Most angels were mindless servants of the Creator, who, now that he thought about it, reminded him of an over-controlling egomaniac.

"Let me rephrase that one then," he said. "How badly are you hurt?"

"I think my ribs are broken," she winced after giving them an experimental prod with her fingers.

"Well, then, I'll take you to my brother. He's a pretty good doctor," Damon told her, looking over her injuries.

"I'd have to be, knowing how many fights you get in," Stefan retorted, alighting next to his brother, midnight wings spread wide.

"No offense, but you guys," she pointed at the two brothers, "are Fallen Ones. So how can I trust you?" Damon grinned, at least those morons in the Court had taught her basic safety.

"Because we are chivalrous Fallen Ones," Stefan replied, smiling. Damon rolled his eyes at his brother's cheesy reply.

"I heard chivalry was dead," the angel shot back, raising an eyebrow, challenging them to disagree.

"Well, it lives on with our immortal souls," Damon shrugged, effortlessly slinging her over his shoulder.

"Wait a second! I can't be taken care of by total strangers!" she protested, weakly pounding on his back. "Let me go!"

"I'm Damon Salvatore, that's my brother Stefan," Damon introduced themselves, readying himself to take off.

"Well, I'm Elena Gilbert," she replied, smiling warmly. "Normally I'd shake your hands, but you might steal my powers."

"We can't do that," Damon informed her archly, while inside he was fuming. He couldn't believe the lies they told young angels at the Court.

"Either way, now we know each other, so we're not strangers anymore, now are we?" Stefan told her, trying to pacify Damon with soothing glances.

Damon rolled his eyes. Stefan had always been the more sociable of the two, and definitely the most comforting. Damon himself was more impulsive, and definitely more violent. He had never been the perfect angel.

"Hey," Elena said, inspecting Damon. "I've heard of you two before. You," she pointed at Damon, "are the only angel ever to have been born with black hair."

"Exactly," Damon shrugged, emotions torn between pride and rage. Pride because those old farts up in the Court hadn't forgotten him, and rage because they were mentioning him as a taboo. He glared at the sky, which was now darkening, mentally cursing the angels of the Court.

"And you were both banished to Earth," Elena added, oblivious to the way they both stiffened in flight at the mention of their exile.

"Obviously," Damon rolled his eyes, forcing himself to relax. "Our wings are black, and so are our eyes, and we are on Earth after all. And you better be grateful, I saved your soul."

"And you were banished for consorting with the demoness, Katherine," she continued, not noticing the expressions of shock on her saviors' faces.


	3. Chapter 3

Me: *scratches head* Well here's the next chapter!

Damon: Is that ALL you have to say? I want to know what's happening!

Stefan: Exactly! What exactly were you doing that had you so busy?

Me: Uh...*sweatdrops* *runs away*

Damon:...Painted-chan sure is strange sometimes...

Stefan: Yep. But she does have a Vampire Diaries RP Forum on Klaus's backstory, you know.

Damon: WHY am I not in it?

Stefan: Because you're not that old, moron. 

Damon: Painted-chan doesn't own the Vampire Diaries! She doesn't know exactly how old I am!

Me: Not true. Review replies:

**xyueuchihax: Yeah...I think the Katherine as villain thing is overdone, so I just made her an instrument of evil! =) And thanks!**

**neylujulyen: Me too! Elena's a good heroine I think. And the Fallen One thing was from the Balck Veil Brides song Fallen Angels. Don't know how or why. =) But *does fist pump* the next chapter's here!**

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><p>"Well, damn, Stef, we're legends!" Damon exclaimed, aiming to sound slightly pleased by that fact, and try desperately to cover up the shock he felt.<p>

"Uh...huh..," Stefan replied, in as much shock as Damon was in. He could not believe what those fools were saying about the two brothers. Consorting? They'd loved her. Loved her, for heaven's sake! Stefan felt all his old wounds of betrayal open up at those few words uttered by the angel who looked like Katherine.

He'd thought that he'd closed them, buried them. He thought that they had been healed by time. After all, that had occurred millennia ago. So why, why was he feeling the pain of the betrayal now?

Damon was battling the same feelings as Stefan. He had buried his wounds with layers of indifference and sarcasm, of biting humor and hatred. He'd convinced himself that they hadn't existed, that he'd felt nothing because of it. That he hadn't been broken.

But, Damon wondered, if something is broken, does it need to be fixed? And how did you know if something was actually broken? Those questions pretty much summarized his entire existence as an angel. He'd been teased, and scorned, because he had black hair, not blond, or white, or brown, which was acceptable, but black. His icy blue eyes had been fine, but his hair…he'd been teased mercilessly, beaten even, and the teachers had condoned it. They'd accepted it, and they ignored him in class, failed him because of it. So Damon learned to fight back, cover himself in barbed wire as a shield, and when they so much as looked at him the wrong way, he'd beat them until they bled.

Stefan had been horrified by his brother's treatment, but he accepted it, and after he too had been beaten, he hadn't tried to stop it. Damon resented his brother for that, for not trying harder to help him, but Stefan was so…pure. He supposed that his brother simply didn't care; after all, Stefan's dream had always been to serve and be the best angel. Damon had laughed at his brother for it, and with good reason. But the laughter had hidden the pain and rage within; his brother, who was supposed to help him, was abandoning him just so he could get some stupid dream?

Damon frowned, and shook his head to clear it of the thoughts. He'd buried them before, but apparently not deep enough. This time, he'd make sure to hide them away, burn them, cover them, and lock them away under layers of faux cruelty and real sarcasm. After all, if you buried your feelings, you couldn't be hurt, right?

"Are you two okay?" a quiet voice shook them out of their reverie.

"Just fine, Princess," Damon smirked, recovering his composure almost immediately. "Right, Stefan?" He asked his brother who had a blank look on his face, and his eyes were slightly glazed over. "Right, brother?" Damon emphasized this by elbowing his brother.

"Yeah," Stefan forced out, glaring at Damon, who flashed him a smile in return. Stefan rolled his eyes, while Elena watched their antics with interest, amusement, and no small amount of confusion. They didn't seem evil, or anywhere near as bad as the Council had described. But there was an edge, a sense of danger around the second one, the one who had rescued her, Damon. He had something dark about him, and it thrilled her, although Elena couldn't recognize the emotion.

"Ah," she winced as Damon's elbow accidentally brushed against her wound.

"Don't worry," Stefan's gentle voice soothed her. "We're almost there."

"Indeed," Damon drawled, alighting on the ground next to a cave. "Welcome to the home of the Fallen Ones, Princess." His voice was mocking, bitter, but Elena was too weary to argue. He set her down carefully on a bed in the cave, which was rather homely looking on second glance. It was spacious, too, she noted.

The cave had a high ceiling, which glimmered in the dying light of the fire near the back. There were two beds, covered with furs, blankets, and pillows, and a mahogany table with four chairs surrounding it. There was a tunnel that led out of the cave, roughly Damon's height, including wings, and it was lit with sconces in the walls, as was the rest of the cave. The flickering firelight lent a comforting air to the brother's home.

"I'm going to get some wood for the fire," Damon called as he walked through the tunnel. "Stefan can take care of your wounds; he's the doctor of the duo."

"I have to be, considering how many times you've walked in here half-dead," Stefan shot back, causing the sound of Damon's laughter to echo down the tunnel and into the cave.

"Touché, brother dearest," he chuckled, emerging with his arms full of neatly chopped wood. Elena was absorbed by the oddness of the situation: two Fallen Ones, supposedly evil, were healing her and inviting her into their home.

"Ow!" she cried as a sudden wave of pain hit her. She looked down to see Stefan gently probing at her wound, a serious expression on his face.

"Damon," he said without looking up, "I need some fresh gauze, hot water, some of the soap you made, and the painkiller."

"What am I, your servant?" Damon grumbled, but went through the tunnel once more to get the things listed.

"Well, Elena, your wound is rather serious, but not life threatening. I'd say it'll heal in about a couple of months or so," Stefan informed her, receiving a nod in response.

"Here you go," Damon handed Stefan exactly what he had asked for, and then walked towards a niche in the wall Elena had not noticed. He picked something up from and then flopped onto the bed right next to it, and directly ender a sconce. He opened the object, which turned out to be a book, and began to read, a simple action that stunned Elena.

These two brothers were undermining everything she had ever heard and learned about Fallen Ones. They were supposed to be vicious and cruel, killing at whim. They were supposed to be sadistic and they were supposed to be torturing her for revenge. They most certainly were not supposed to be rescuing her, tending to her wounds, inviting her into their home, and reading in the firelight. So why were they? Her eyes were slightly unfocused as she watched Stefan rinse and bind her wounds, and her mind was tired, too tired to question their actions or think about what they should be doing.

"Drink this," Stefan handed her a cup full of…something, but she drank it anyway. It was warm, and tasted like pure gold, if you could taste such a thing. It warmed her and sent her into a state of drowsiness. Vaguely, she saw Stefan covering her with a blanket and getting up. Her drowsy mind couldn't comprehend what was going on, and so she gladly gave into the comforting blankness of sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Me: Heeyyy guys! ^^ Finally updated~ LOL sorry for the ridiculously long wait...Excuses shall be made later.

Britain: Indeed. Painted-chan, do have a scone. I made it myself.

Me: *O.O*

America: Come on, Painted, let's go grab some unhealthy stuff which is actually edible.

Me: *nods* I'm STARVING!

Britain: You blasted idiot! You're both going to get fat and be diabetic!

Me&America: *look up with mouths full**shrug and continue eating*

Britain: FINE! PaintedinAllColors doesn't own the Vampire Diaries. Or Hetalia. *stalks off*

Me: And now for review replies~!

**xyueuechihax: Gracias~! I do try...but I think that writing Damon so much is affecting my personality cuz I took a few DIFFERENT personality quizzes...and ended up as Damon. On all. Weird much? LOL but thanks for the compliment~!**

**TVD's Cutest Crazy: Ah, sorry about the shortness...it was kinda rush...but thanks for dropping by to review~!**

Me: Now I shut up and leave you to read. ENJOY!

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><p>"Damon," Stefan began, unsure of how to approach the topic.<p>

"I know how they make others perceive us, and frankly, I don't give a shit. They can think whatever the hell they want, because most angels will not run into us," Damon told his brother, midnight eyes locking with equally onyx orbs.

"But it still hurts," Stefan said, eyes closing and a frown appearing on his face. He opened his eyes when Damon did not respond, only to see his brother's eyes harden…with what? He could not identify the whirlpool of emotions flashing through them.

But Damon still said nothing. He didn't need to. They both knew it hurt, but they could move on because they were now outcasts. Condemned in heaven, and not belonging in hell. They were the Fallen Angels, cast down into the world, and they didn't have to care, because they were free, and words couldn't describe their feelings. Maybe once, but not now.

"What are we going to do with her?" Damon finally spoke, face unreadable.

"We heal her," Stefan answered automatically, slightly puzzled about the question.

"And then what, Stefan?" Damon asked, raising an eyebrow. "She'll be a good little angel when they ask where she was, and then they'll know where we are. And obviously they will somehow twist the story and get a battalion to hunt us down."

"You don't know that," a voice said quietly from the bed opposite them.

"Elena-," Stefan started to chastise her.

"Oh? And how do we know you won't?" Damon challenged her, raising an eyebrow.

"Well maybe you should have thought of that before you rescued me," she shot back, trembling slightly.

"Well-,"

"Damon, enough," Stefan said lightly. "Continue this when she's better, okay? Now you need to rest Elena."

She lay back down, eyes half open, and let the world swirl around her, all sounds melting into one, and then fading into silence. And almost immediately, she fell back asleep.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Damon sat in his little corner of the cave they called home, and tried to concentrate on his book. In vain, that is. Because _she_ kept haunting his thoughts. He couldn't get her out of his head, and he hated it. He despised how she had so easily slipped into his remains of a heart.

And then she'd ripped it apart, from the inside out. Damon knew she had never loved him, but he had tried and hoped and wished and wanted it so badly that in the end he'd fooled himself into thinking she loved him. He was an idiot, and he'd never make the same mistake twice. Damon would never fall in love again, he had sworn, and he intended to keep that promise.

But then Elena showed up and made it so much harder than it used to be. Not to keep his promise, but to forget Katherine and continue damning her name into eternity. She looked like her so much that it felt she was right there in front of him. But they way Elena acted was so much different. They were total opposites.

But he knew that he could so easily make himself believe Elena was Katherine, and she was willing to be with him. Just like he'd fooled himself that Katherine had loved him. But he didn't love Elena. He didn't love anyone but himself and maybe Stefan.

And no matter how much they looked alike, Elena was not Katherine. They were not the same. They never would be. And that's the way he wanted it to be, right? Yes, yes it was, Damon told himself, tossing the book onto his bed and heading outside. He needed some space.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Stefan watched Damon walk out. Normally he would have stopped his brother, but this time he understood. Damon needed to think, to relax, to not be near Elena, who reminded them of Katherine so much it actually hurt. So he sat there, looking at the angel who was the opposite of the one he'd once been fooled into thinking he'd loved.

Elena. Katherine. So different from each other, but so similar in looks. Identical, actually. Stefan was glad it wasn't Katherine, though. She hadn't been…good for him and Damon. And in the end she'd gotten them Cast down. It had scarred the brothers, cut them deeper than any knife could, wounded them more than anything physical possibly could.

Stefan had learned to forgive, but he'd never really forgotten, even though he'd already let go of the past, accepted it. But Damon…Damon hadn't done any of those things. It went deeper than that with his brother, Stefan realized; it had torn him apart. Damon had never really trusted anyone before Katherine, and when he began to trust her, to love her, she broke him. She'd ripped his heart out. Stefan thinks that Damon will never love again, but maybe, he looked at the sleeping Elena, she can teach him how. How to forgive, how to trust. She's our second chance, Stefan thought, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from their guest's forehead and smiling.

!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Damon snarled viciously at the demon who had the bad luck of running into him today.

"Leave and I won't kill you," he told it, black eyes blazing.

"Oooh, I'm so scared," it taunted, rolling its crimson eyes and baring the filed canines all demons had. But on Katherine it looked good, Damon couldn't help but think. A second after that, he growled in frustration, shaking his head as if that could clear the poisonous thoughts embedded deep in his psyche.

Sensing the other's distraction, the demon grinned, anticipating a bloody fight. The fact that it was not allowed to kill the Fallen One irked him, but what his mistress said, he would do, or else. But wounding his would have to do for now, he supposed, cracking his knuckles.

In an instant, the demon charged, Damon barely evading a blow that would have ripped him from shoulder to hip. As it was, the demon only managed a glancing blow on his cheekbone, leaving a thin line of blood flowing down from it. Damon cursed, glaring at the hideous creature before him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" the demon simpered, laughing loudly. Damon merely gritted his teeth, not deigning to reply to the insulting comment. Besides, his wound stung like hellfire; the demon's poison was taking effect, but, since he was a Fallen One, it would not kill him, merely slow him down. But, Damon reflected, staring at the demon. That might just kill me. Oh well, he shrugged, leaping into the air with a fierce, feral grin on his face.

"Finally, pretty boy gets serious," the demon chuckled, following him. Damon froze at the name; only one person had ever called him that, and that was…Katherine. His mind drifted to her feather-light, teasing touches, her lilting laugh. Days spent on the Earth simply reclining, basking in her love. Involuntarily, he slowed down as his mind transported him to when they used to fly, side by side, lazily tracing patterns in the air with their wings.

The demon saw his chance, and sped up, powerful, ragged, red wings churning the air. Still, Damon was in his daydream of what once was. The demon smiled, a macabre parody of a real smile, his marred by evil and bloodlust. He raised his hand, claws extended. Damon snapped out of the daydream, and turned, eyes wide in horror as he tried to get away, cursing himself for being so foolish as to get distracted.

"Too late," the demon snarled, slashing the Fallen One, a terrible wound that shocked and paralyzed Damon as a scream tore itself from his throat, echoing throughout the land.

"Katherine gives you her love," the demon said, turning his back on the sight of the Fallen One dropping down to the forest below, face still twisted in an expression of pain and terror. Damon saw the demon open its gateway to Hell, and only heard its parting words faintly, as his world went black, and he succumbed to the pain.


	5. Chapter 5

Me: OMGOMGOMG! Been so freaking LONG! I'm sorry guys, I really am...Writer's block is a bitch.

Damon: Painted-chan, why don't you just get to it instead of rambling and making pointless excuses!

Me: Shut up!

Kol: He's got a point...

Klaus: Painted-chan no own. Can we continue, I LIKE how I'm portrayed in this one...

Me: NO! Review replies first, hon.

**Z'sNalla: Thanks, and I think this one is gonna throw you for a loop, though~~ =P**

**superdoodie: I'm sorry, and thanks! Update is here!**

Me: Now, people, this is actually a really important chapter in the story, so do pay attention. It may not seem like much, but trust me it is!

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><p>Elena yawned, stretching like a cat. Blearily, she cast her glance around, looking for Stefan and Damon. Have I come to trust them already? She wondered. But how could she be surprised; they'd saved her life, after all.<p>

That was another thing bothering her. Fallen Ones were supposed to be evil, more dangerous than the demons, even. They were supposed to kill an angel on sight; why didn't they kill her?

"Elena," Stefan's melodic voice softly said.

"Yes?" she replied, her tone betraying nothing of the conflicting emotions within her. What she was doing went against everything she'd ever been taught, but her instinct told her to stay here, to trust them. It told her that Damon and Stefan were different, weren't evil They weren't the monsters they're portrayed to be.

"I'm going to get some-," he broke off, his eyes widened. For a moment, Elena swore she could see pure pain and worry in his eyes. It scared her, the pure scale of emotion captured in the onyx orbs; eyes supposed to be filled with hatred and insanity were instead a whirlpool of worry and pain.

"Damon," he said, by way of explanation, and ran, faster than anything Elena had ever seen. She stared, speechless, at the place he had been the moment before. She blinked, confused. What was going on? Surely Stefan couldn't know whether or not Damon was hurt? They couldn't have that strong of a bond, could they? Fallen Ones aren't capable of that, or are they? Elena asked herself; a sliver of doubt wriggling into her mind. For if the Celestial Court had been wrong about one thing, could they be wrong about others?

!~!~!~!~!~!~!

Stefan ran desperately, faster than he'd ever run before. He flung out his energy, which cascaded around him, each droplet with a single purpose: to find Damon.

A faint glimmer struck his attention; it was a small flash, barely there, but it was Damon's. Something's wrong, Stefan thought. Damon would never be so powerless, and if he was concealing himself, he can do better than that.

"Damon…," it came out as a shocked whisper, yet it echoed throughout the clearing. "No," he said numbly. "No!" He rushed towards his brother, shock and worry pulsing through him.

Blood…there was so much of it, so much! Breathe, he told himself. Come on Stefan, he'll live. This is Damon, you know. He took another breath before looking at the terrible wound; the crimson liquid pouring out and forever scarring the land.

His brother was pale, paler than Stefan had ever seen him before, and still, too. Deathly still, silent, unmoving.

"I can't move him," Stefan murmured, waves of hysteria nearly overtaking him. "He won't live…" He bit his lip, mind whirring through solutions. "Energy," he spoke out loud, his words hanging in the clearing, as if it was holding its breath. "But I don't have enough! I can't do this! But I can't lose him either!" Tears threatened to spill over, blurring his vision. "Dammit!" He yelled angrily, his voice raw with emotion.

Use me…

"Who's there?" Stefan looked around wildly, ready to fight. But there was nothing there, only a ghostly breeze drifting through the trees. He shivered, there was something here, something…dangerous. His senses tingled, sharpened instincts ready for anything.

Use my power to save him…

"I…I will," Stefan said, eyes and mind clouding. "I will."

He sat down next to his brother-he was so pale!-and tried to focus. The blood just kept pouring out, as if it was an inexhaustible river. He almost choked on the possibility of this not working, of Damon dying. It was too real now, too close. His brother's life hung on a delicate gossamer thread, and he was that thread.

A dark aura surrounded Stefan as he tried to focus; energy swirling around him. It was thrilling darkness, but borrowed nevertheless. Stefan would never forget that. He pushed it into Damon, this sweet darkness, making it into life. It flowed into him easily, that borrowed power.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the wound began to close; skin reknitting together over muscle and sinew. The red river of blood stopped flowing, but Damon remained quiet, remained still as Stefan lay gasping beside his brother, shivering uncontrollably.

"What have I done?"

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

_It was night; the stars studding the midnight tapestry of the sky. The breeze ruffled his hair as he flew, his wings tracing graceful arcs in the sky. Damon laughed, eyes dancing wildly as the wind grew ever stronger while he flew ever further into the tempting beauty._

_"Damon…," a voice called out to him, like nothing he had ever heard before. It was dark and seductive, yet a rumbling bass that commanded absolute attention. It called to him, a siren song of darkness, appealing to his base nature._

_"Hello?" he called out, looking around. Suddenly, the stars were gone, and he was in a cavernous room, hollow and deep. There was something about this place that resonated within him, striking a chord in his very being. _

_His voice echoed, sinisterly, throughout the place. Damon narrowed his eyes, this was…different. Somehow the darkness here was more…there. It had a tangible presence, it lingered here. It breathed. It lived._

_A laugh rang out, and the pressure increased, the dark enveloped him, smothered him. Black eyes blazed with rage; he would NOT submit, he would NOT give in!_

"_Hello, Damon Salvatore," a blond man sauntered out, exuding power. His stance was relaxed, his smile inviting. But his eyes, Damon shuddered internally. His eyes, they screamed of cruelty and madness, of greed and torture, of things left unspoken; those ugly truths nobody wants to admit. They were blue, deep and piercing, and cold and cruel._

"_You…you are Niklaus," Damon said, eyes wide. But he was not afraid, not as he should be._

"_Lord Niklaus to you," he bared his teeth in a macabre approximation of a smile. "Now, it's time. We shall meet again, this, I promise." He dissolved into the darkness, his blue orbs of ice the last thing to vanish. _

_And the darkness drew ever closer, crushing him, drawing him ever closer. Damon had the sensation of being suspended over a yawning maw of an abyss, only held dangling by a slim, fraying rope. _

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

The world was blurry, skewed. Damon blinked, confused. His head spun, and his dream still lingered, fragmented in his mind.

"Damon?" Stefan said hoarsely beside him. His eyes were red-rimmed, and held a haunted, tortured look.

"What?" he replied, frowning at the…faintness of his own voice.

"We need to get you to home," Stefan told him, avoiding his penetrating gaze. Damon raised a skeptical eyebrow, but said nothing. Stefan's gaze had been like that of a madman. With a crazed, burning intensity Damon had never seen in his brother. With an intensity Damon himself possesses. Or does it possess him?

"What's eating at you?" Damon asked, getting up. He swayed slightly, and cursed under his breath.

"The fact that you could have died this time! What were you thinking?" Stefan yelled angrily.

"I was just going for some air!" Damon shouted back, furious. "It's not my fault a damned demon attacked me!"

His brother remained silent, but his quiet eyes still held that tortured look.

"It's not my fault," he repeated, before lapsing into stony silence.

Stefan made no effort to break it, and it lay over them, thick and heavy, blanketing the two brothers. Damon closed his eyes, tired. Rare though it was, it did happen. What happened? He asked himself, because something must have. Almost losing Damon wasn't enough to give Stefan that look. He thought that was something he'd never see on his brother; it was something he'd tried to protect him from.

And that dream…Damon shuddered at the mere memory of it, faded shadow of the original that it was. If only it was just a dream, he wished. Because even if Niklaus hadn't been there, it would still have been more than a dream. The feeling of the darkness surrounding him, it was too real. And too welcome.


	6. Chapter 6

Me: Heyyyyyy! It's been forever gaiz~ Seriously...it has. All my fault though, and I can accept full and total-

Damon: YOU BETTER!

Me:...Gee, thanks.

Damon: What?

Stefan: You don't like him right now, so let me say the disclaimer!

Me: Oki~

Damon: WHAT?

Stefan: Painted-chan no own.

Me: Thanks...but now I'm starting to wonder why I never get to say it.

Damon: Because we're awesomer.

Me: Stefan, remind me to have something bad happen to him later on, 'kay?

Stefan: Sure.

Damon: You're my brother!

Stefan: But you promised me eternal misery. So there.

Damon: !

Me: And a shoutout to Guest, who reviewed very awesomely! I'm actually kind of relieved that you think the bond between Stefan and Damon is good! It was surprisingly hard to write, but I think showing how it's going to dissolve will be harder...hmm. But seriously, thank you SO much for reviewing. I'm sorry this took so long, but it's here now! By the way, this is actually a key chapter, so pay close attention to all of this, every single part. Dream, dialogue, Stefan POV (however short it is), Elena POV, and Katherine POV. That's right, you hear from Katherine herself. Sort of. Well, I hope you enjoy, cuz I think this is the best chapter for this story I've ever written ^.^

* * *

><p><span>Elena<span>

That night, Elena lay awake, staring at the roof of the cave. Katherine, Damon, Stefan, everything was just flowing through her, over her. Worry, demons, fear, pain, they swirled through her veins. He'd been asleep for three days, in a fever for four before that. _I really shouldn't worry about him so much, even if he did rescue me, __she sighed, staring up at the opening that revealed the star-studded infinity of the night. _Names, faces, people; hatred, fear, hope; it all rushed through her mind. Stefan's quiet, peaceful breath filled the cave as she tried to fall into a slumber. How peaceful and innocent he looks, she mused. Slim eyebrows furrowed in thought. It's so different than what I was taught and told. So very different. They-they're not evil, or betrayers. I know they must have done something terrible, but…But now I'm starting to doubt that. I'm still alive; Stefan and Damon took care of me. They took me in, not out of some sick, sadistic curiosity or in a way that they were trying to earn my trust and then break me, but kindly. 

She heaved another sigh, trying to force the contemplations from her mind. It wouldn't do any good to worry on those things. After all, she was still hurt, if not as severely as before. But she could move, at least that was something. If only she could fall asleep, then and only then would she truly be able to shake the plaguing thoughts. But her eyes had adjusted easily to the darkness and she could see every subtle shift in the silvery moonlight and the dimmed fires that illuminated the brothers' home. Shadows flickering softly against the walls lent a depth and mysterious warmth to the homely space. Their quick, darting movements drew her attention, and then lulled her mind. They were peaceful and playful, childish and innocent flames. She couldn't help but smile.

And her gaze drifted. From one place to another, now heavy eyelids that refused to stay down only half masked her warm orbs. Finally, her eyes settled on Damon. His brow reflected with sheen of sweat, but his fever had broken only this evening. The shock-black hair had grown out, almost reaching his shoulders now, and was scattered contrastingly against the startlingly white cloth just above his forehead. Expressive lips were pulled downwards in a sleepy approximation of a snarl; his posture was stiff, almost as if he were carved out of stone. But, fitful though it may seem, she envied him his sleep.

She took in the contours of his body under the thin sheet Stefan had placed over him before collapsing onto his own bed. Even in sleep, even when wounded and weak, Damon looked as if he were at war with something. This is getting too odd, Elena groaned softly as she turned around. This sleep deprivation seems to be causing me to lose my mind. Or maybe I'm going slightly stir-crazy. But staring at Damon while he sleeps just because he looks conflicted is strange. It's such a contrast though. Those two, if it weren't for their slight resemblance in facial structure, I'd think that they were not brothers. They are night and day from each other; where Stefan is gentle and patient, like a spring breeze, Damon is impulsive and unpredictably harsh, like a great typhoon. And Stefan is so much…kinder, almost. He is giving. Elena smiled as she remembered the murmured words of comfort he'd given her as he'd treated her wound and the fervor in his eyes as he had stitched Damon back up and cleaned his terrifyingly pale skin. Tender and sweet while the other is brash and sardonic.

Night and day…..

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

_"Hello, Elena," a voice startled her. Elena turned, wary. Instantly, her hand reached for the dagger on her hip. A demon? She gasped._

_ It was her._

_ "You're…me?" she whispered in shock. Impossible. Was she looking into a giant mirror, like those in the Hall of Truth? Was this some sort of test? Or could it simply be her imagination._

_ "No, Elena," the woman smirked. A chill ran through her bones; this woman, whatever, whoever she was, was bad. Evil, terrible, malicious; she could sense in. _

_ "Then who are you?" Elena asked, summoning her courage. She didn't want to hear the answer, but it was something she needed to know. This was something she couldn't understand and couldn't grasp._

_ "Walk with me," with a devious smile, was her only response. A garden sprung up instantly, making Elena recoil. The not-Elena merely laughed and raised an eyebrow as if saying, 'how pathetic you are, jumping in fright at the smallest thing!' She furrowed her brow, staring at the not her that was here. _

_ "Who are you?" repeated Elena, firm, steady. Resolutely stubborn; I won't go anywhere until she answers me. I won't. _

_ "I **said** walk with me." The woman's voice grew colder and harsher, and with her words came the sense of something hovering over her, close to dropping. Elena felt compelled to do as she said. Her voice had become soft and alluring, irresistible._

_ "Yes," she murmured in response, all the while her mind shouted at her to listen with her mind, not her ears, and to see without her eyes. Riddles, it spoke in. _

_ "Let me tell you a story," not-Elena said simply, tone neutral, all inflections gone. They strolled past a gurgling fountain with clear, azure waters on her side, but the same fountain on the not-Elena's side was full of dark oil. Elena's fogged mind shrugged this off, dismissing it simply as a trick of the light. "There were once two boys who lived on the highest hill with their friends and family. But one of the boys was different from the rest; he wanted to know what was below the hill, who was below the hill. He was branded as a rebel and an outcast, but he was strong and unyielding as the mountain itself. His brother, the other boy, was compliant and giving, the golden child; he was a serene pond in which the sun sees its reflection. But the brother always kept his rebellious family safe and under control. Until they were both sent to gather fruits on the hill, outside their little town. _

_ "The rebellious brother, always seething with curiosity, convinced the golden one to come down the hill, further than they were allowed. It was more a mountain than a hill, come to think of it. Anyway, around the middle of the mountain, they came across a girl. She was beautiful, with kind brown eyes and curls that shone auburn in the sun but were as rich a brown as the fertile soil when the clouds came. They fell in love with her, both of them, but she could not choose between them. The brothers snuck out of their village every day to meet her in that meadow in the middle of the mountain. _

_ "And so, they were happy." The not-Elena paused here, sitting down daintily on an elaborately carved stone bench. Elena sat opposite her, intrigued by this story. But the other did not continue, instead she fingered a velvety rose growing next to her bench. She caressed its midnight petals lovingly, not paying any mind to the thorns just below._

_ "Is that it?" Elena couldn't help but ask. The story had a faint echo of familiarity, something that resonated quietly in the back of her mind. _

_ "No, not yet," the other Elena spoke after a while. "They were happy, until one day the rebellious boy whose eyes sparkled like a flowing brook asked where the girl lived. She didn't answer him, for she lived at the foot of the mountain where all the wild things were, and she knew the brothers she had fallen for were from the top. And so, she did not answer, only stood and shed her cloak, revealing tattered clothes and angry red scratches penned across her creamy skin. _

_ "She turned, expecting them to hate her and push her away, but they did not. The blue-eyes rebel embraced her instead, letting his brother flee in confusion, promising her that he would always love her no matter what." A wistful smile crept across the not-Elena's face. "The golden brother returned the next day too, with a single Black Magic rose in his hand for her, with the golden shimmer of all the plants that grew atop the mountain summit as an apology. And still she could not choose. This went on, both trying to woo her in their own way, for months at a time, tearing the two apart as each was sure she would not pick the other." Elena wanted so badly to ask, "who did she pick after all?", but held her tongue._

_ "One day, the boys came back to their spot, but something had changed. The beautiful glow that had surrounded them had faded, and their eyes had turned as black as coal. Their arms bore their shame in a brand, but still their personalities shone through. You see, they had been banished from the village for loving her, for shirking their duties to come see her. But one exulted in this freedom while the other looked as if he were on the verge of tears._

_ "The girl blamed herself, and said that she was sorry and that she couldn't choose. The once golden simply sat there in shock, but the rebellious brother began to scream at her, shouting. He said that he had loved her, but now he had nothing. He said that he would always love her, that he knew they both would, but he would try not to. He said that love was foolish, and that she would be his only exception in his forever. And he left, angry, bitter, yet free. His brother followed him, casting a despairing glance at the girl who could only shake her head and let the black tears fall. And she left too, after the both of them, going back to the desolation that was her home at the foot of the mountain."_

_ "Isn't there supposed to be a happy ending?" Elena stated, confused._

_ "I said a story, not a happy one," the not-Elena snapped as she rose. "Now, do you understand?"_

_ "Not really," Elena hung her head. _

_ "You shall see soon enough. Oh, and you asked who I was? I am Katherine." And everything dissolved._

!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!

"Wake up, princess," a voice scoffed. Damon? He's awake? Elena's befuddled mind tried to comprehend this.

"Yes, I'm awake and very much alive. And I believe you have questions for me." The two left the cave; neither wanted to wake Stefan. But they sat above it, on cool yet warm gray slate that made Elena feel as if it was only her, Damon, and the sky.

"I dreamed of Katherine," she offered, although she still could not fathom the meaning of the name and the story. But she understood that the name, that the person meant something. Katherine represented something important yet heartbreaking to Stefan and Damon, if the story was anything to go by. Abstract though it was, it had dealt with love and pain. She needed to know what it meant, needed to know more than she needed to breathe or eat. Elena knew it was important, if not to the past then to the future. For Katherine was the name Damon had muttered before he fell into the abyss of the fever, the name Stefan whispered under his breath when he saw Elena unexpectedly. She wanted to know why; were they the two boys from the story? Was she the one who had gotten them Cast down, Banished?

"I know," Damon looked away, his face unreadable. "I heard you muttering her name. It woke me up." He was quiet, frank; different from the playfully sarcastic response she knew he usually gave. "She's been coming up more often these days." He gave her a hard look, dark eyes swirling with something she couldn't interpret, wouldn't understand.

"I'm sorry," Elena apologized. She cast her eyes down at the stony ground, fingering the grooves in the slate above the cave. I don't know what else to say to him. Damon's always been distant, even though he was the one that saved me.

"Don't be. You shouldn't apologize for anything." She heard him lie down, resting his head against the surprisingly warm stone. She knew he closed his eyes when a rush of breath left his lips, the words unsaid hanging in the air between them. He's tired, we're all tired. She mirrored his movement, letting her eyes drift shut as she basked in the quiet that blanketed them. It was neither purposeful nor ominous, neither tense nor fueled. It was simply there. A small smile slightly curled her lips upwards as she contemplated this odd, quiet, freedom.

"You want me to tell you about her." It was a simple statement, but his voice was quietly controlled. Elena could hear the tightly covered pain beneath the whisper in the slight hoarseness in which he spoke.

"Only if you want to," she didn't want him to hate her for asking, didn't want him to lash out because telling her might be like telling Katherine. Elena couldn't tell him the story, not yet.

"Che," the soft sound of derision shocked her. Elena had expected many responses, but not this. Yet, she held her tongue, certain that there would be more to follow. "You're soft, while she is cold and unforgiving; sunlight's warm to the cold hellfire. Same face, different soul." His dark brows drew together in what could have been thought or anger.

A pause followed; something neither of them knew how to break. Because how could Elena respond to something like that? How could anyone respond to something like that? But there was something she needed to ask, a question that burned her tongue with the hot flame of curiosity.

"She was a demon, then?" Elena began carefully. "And…and you loved her. You and Stefan both. But it was against the rules…she was the one that got you Cast out! It must have been! But…why isn't she here?" The words rushed together in a hurried murmur and widened doe eyes, but she knew he understood. Because the story made sense now; the summit had been heaven and the bottom hell, the middle earth. The middle where they had been sentenced.

"Because she loved neither of us. Because she loved both of us."

"She couldn't choose," she murmured, feeling the velvet petals under her fingers though there was nothing but stone there.

Elena looked at him then, taking in the silvery halo of moonlight that surrounded his silhouetted profile. It was different from the golden sunshine of the angels, different from the oily crimson-black that surrounded the demons. It was shimmering and ethereal, ephemeral as smoke; twining and rising through the air wondrously. It was a subtle beauty. It was something intrinsic and personal. It was something that could only be noticed in moments like this, in moments of perfect silence. And she waited for him to continue.

"Sometimes," Damon paused, his brow furrowing and his eyes searching intently in her own for answers she wasn't sure were there. He was propping his back up with his arms, turning to face her. "Sometimes, I see you, and I want to hurt you for what she's done. But sometimes I want to be your savior too, to be what I couldn't be for her. I think that's why I saved you, there. For a second chance. An old weakness I've since obliterated. But still, I need to remind myself, over and over, that you're two different people. You look alike, exactly like her, but you're different on the inside. That's what I tell myself. But, Elena, something inside me feels that you and Katherine have a lot more in common than your looks."

"Katherine," Elena curled her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. She couldn't look at him, not after that. But she murmured the name anyway, at first hesitantly, as if it were something precious that might break at any second. And then repeating it again, frowning. It tasted bitter and heavy on her tongue, the aftertaste overly sweet and cloying.

Stefan

"Katherine." He shot awake instantly, ready. Wildly mussed hair was smoothed out by shaking hands that were usually steady as he took in the emptiness of the cave. There was no sweet yet sharp aura here, no cold yet warm black yet brown eyes around. There was only him and the flickering sconces.

Letting out a relieved rush of breath, the tension instantly left his body and he lay back down. Staring at the ceiling, he traced the patterns of the murals he had painted over his bed. He had painted a golden, shimmering city with colors and hues that existed nowhere else, a place where the sky was a shocking shade of blue; a place where the gardens' fragrance permeated the air sweetly. A place he was forever banned from. This mural, it doesn't do it justice. The colors there are like none on Earth, none in any of the other realms. But this is the closest I may ever get, this and my memories.

!~!~!~!~!~!

Katherine

"That, Katherine, was foolish. Very foolish," he turned to her, glacial eyes freezing her where she stood. Long blonde locks obscured what she knew to be a seething mixture of greed and rage in his eyes. For his brother, the sin Wrath was present as well, sharp face hidden by shadows. She lifted her chin; his presence caused volatility, anger, even being near to him could fill one's vision with bloodlust for an imagined slight. Yet his eyes were closed, his posture relaxed.

"My lord Kol," she murmured softly as she briefly inclined her head in his direction. Even at the risk of offended Klaus, she needed to respect others. Katherine suspected that he had summoned his brother for this very reason, to test her mettle. Precautions were necessary; for the very embodiment of rage to be dissatisfied could mean her death. Klaus raised an eyebrow, waiting for her full attention.

"Appearing in her dreams like that? What were you thinking?" Klaus slammed his fist into the gleaming obsidian walls. The tremors vibrated through her, forcing her to stumble backwards clumsily. Curse you, Kol, she thought venomously. He is even more volatile than usual! Carefully now, Katherine. Be very careful with this. Black and white fire that radiated the same chill as his eyes spread slowly, surrounding her. She swallowed nervously, her dead heart feeling an emotion she barely recognized as fear. Katherine's eyes darted back and forth; there had to be a way to get out of this. The flames grew ever closer, hotter, and colder. Weaker demons present shied away from the mesmerizing power as she frantically searched her mind for an escape. She had been certain that he wouldn't kill her; that she was valuable, but Wrath's appearance did not bode well. He caused irrationality, and irrationality in a demon much more powerful than her was something she could not afford to have. But maybe, maybe she didn't need to run. Careful. Your words must be like poisoned honey, attracting to kill. A Venus flytrap, a gifted dagger. But blades are double-edged, and so I must tread cautiously and mind my words. But most of all, I must not let Kol's being here influence me. It would not do well for that to happen, not at all.

"My lord," reddened lips curved upwards deviously, "is it really that much of a...Sin to play with my food?" In faux innocence, she tilted her head to the side. Amusement masked the fear in her eyes, confidence obscured any doubts. Katherine arched a slim eyebrow, a smirk playing onto her lips.

"Generally, no, little temptress," Klaus chuckled, sending slivers of ice down her spine. She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from speaking. One wrong word could mean the death of her here. I can't afford to slip up, not now. Not this far into the game. Because it was all really just a game, a long, twisted game of chess. Two kings, each with their own spheres of control, each with their own powers, each with their own kingdoms. Two armies, clashing for power under the command of their masters in this game. Where even the most powerful are nothing but pawns, and where one bad move can cost lives.

But, I've been in this game longer than he thinks. I have more experience than he thinks. And I'm ready for whatever may come. Resolve renewed, almond-shaped eyes that should have been the color of warm, inviting brown but instead reflected something cold and dead held the gaze of the Demon Lord Niklaus. And waited for his response.

"However," of course, it would come. Just as she knew it would not be harsh, only mildly amused, "you may not return to the Middle Realm unless I so command. Is that understood, Katerina?" The words were no more than she had expected. He believes that I am a toy; that I have my uses. But he is ready to throw away toys that no longer work, and so, I must always prove myself to be useful in some way. As for now, I am safe. He will need me later; he cannot kill me now. And so, I am safe. Concealing her thoughts, her triumph, she looked demurely at him. A mask, she told herself. Wear the mask of subservience, of weakness. And then, just as the camouflaged snake, then strike. Hide my snakebite heart behind a sweet smile and a pretty face. 

"Am I understood, Katerina?" he repeated, this time a hint of power creeping into his smooth, chocolate voice. If chocolate was poison, that is.

"Perfectly, my lord Niklaus, my Greed," Katherine curtsied. She hid the distaste of the use of her full name well as she looked up at him through thick eyelashes. He smirked down at her, cold as the hellfire his heart was surely made of.

"Good," he nodded. He reclined lazily on his throne now, all anger faded. His throne, a macabre beauty of hellfire against gleaming white bones, pouring liquid rubies and obsidian around it yet radiating an aura of extreme menace. But she had learned to guard herself from the cold, learned to hide the pain even though she still internally shuddered at its terrible magnificence. All around her, the demons cowered, shivered, groaned in pain. And she stood amongst them all as the very picture of shy femininity. Katherine bowed once more before she calmly turned, black and red dress embroidered with a darkly shimmering silver flowing in her wake and the serenely deadly smile firmly in place. The prologue has ended, the board has been set. And now, the pieces move. For in every game, there is a knight that believes himself King, and a pawn who is truly the Queen. Let the game begin, I am ready. 


End file.
